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“It’s 11.30 shit I don’t believe it,” shouted Norman. “Help, help Betsy, I can’t be late; some coffee please, just use the water from the hot tap.” She presented him with his caffeine as he headed towards the door. Taking just a large swig, he kissed her goodbye and thanks. “Oh I get a wife’s kiss now do I?” she complained. He ran down the street to the cab office, only to be told he’d have to wait. At least now he could allow himself time for a cigarette. The cab arrived in two cigarettes. It was just after mid-day as he got out of the cab. Doc was stood outside the venue reading a paperback.
“He’s not here yet! Great,” said Norman interrupting Doc in his reading.
“Nope, it’s freezing man, let’s get inside.”
Norman unlocked the front door noticing the security bolt was already off and the alarm de-activated and the bar cleaning lights were on. Sitting at the largest table now covered in paperwork was, “Mr. Patel” enquired Norman.
“Yes, that is me,” replied the well dressed and distinguished looking Mr. Patel. “I hope you do not mind me letting myself in? I was early, these are Paddy’s keys. You must be Norman and Doc.”
“Yes that’s us, replied Doc.”
“I am very pleased to be meeting with you both, we have much to discuss.”
The three men sat together looked an unlikely group to be talking business. Norman not quite himself yet offered coffee. Doc and Mr Patel ordered tea and then made polite conversation as Norman went off to the bar kitchen. On his return he looked more alive, having drank one cup already. The three all smoked, the scene now looked like a card school Doc noticed and then thought perhaps it was. The short nervous silence was soon broken.
Mr. Patel opened the meeting, “Please call me Patel all my friends do.”
“Patelallmyfriendsdo!” called out Doc.
Norman frowned and shook his head.
Mr. Patel laughed, “Now I know why Paddy refers to you as that fucking comedian. Very good I must remember that one. Down to business, Paddy is to go into a private nursing home on the recommendation of his Doctor. You met him Norman, a good friend to Paddy and the late Maureen of course. It is a very nice place, not cheap though. He will need time to, let’s say get going again, he’s still only in mid-life 50 something, just like me. We feel: that is his Doctor; Solicitor and I, that in the short to medium term things could carry on here as in the recent past. However we can’t say anything of the long term right now. We have to see how Paddy progresses, then there is the Brewery to consider, they own the pub and Paddy of course is only the Tennant. In my capacity as accountant to Paddy and Maureen I have been made aware of course of your arrangements with Paddy and see no need to make changes. Please gentlemen tell me how you feel, be honest, I know you must have some concerns.”
“Questions, more like,” answered Norman now fully awake. “So I would deal direct with you, instead of Paddy.”
“Correct.”
“Will I get to talk to Paddy first?”
“No, that is not possible, I’m sorry to say. On the authority of his Doctor, his Solicitor has granted Power of Attorney of this business to me.”
“Fair enough, but I would like to visit Paddy as a friend as soon as possible.”
“You will see him at the Funeral Service this Wednesday but not to talk business. You and I Norman are in charge of the pub and of course Doc we hope will continue to provide the entertainment.”
“Sounds fair to me,” added Doc, “so we all just carry on more or less the same.”
“Well nearly, just some fine tuning, I will go through with young Norman here. So we will not detain you any longer Doc, pleasure to meet you. I must pop in here one evening see if you can make me laugh, perhaps at the end of one of my bad days in the office. ”
Doc with a shocked look got up, shook hands with Mr. Patel, nodded to Norman and headed out through the front door; he made a point of not slamming it behind him.
“Well Norman, perhaps as it is now past mid-day you would poor me a large gin and tonic and whatever you would like.” Norman jumped up, showing his lack of skills behind the bar.
“So young Norman, if you would please provide me with the weekend’s figures and of course the takings, we can balance up.” Norman went through to the office, returning with two cloth moneybags and a sheet of paper with till roll readings stapled on.
“This is it then!”
Mr. Patel studied the till readings, the scribbled notes on the door takings, then pulled out the bundles of bank notes, “I don’t understand, you took all this in just two nights!”
“Yes, we were pretty busy.”
“Pretty busy, is an understatement Norman, I would say. We may have a problem here. I was under the impression from Paddy that this place was taking considerably less than this. Have a look at these figures Norman from last year. Tell me honestly what you think. ” Norman studied the neatly entered figures in the accounts book.
“They seem much lower than we took, are they the gross figures.”
“Yes all gross these ones.” Norman shook his head.
“Pub Landlords,” exclaimed Mr. Patel, “a special breed, this puts you and I in a very difficult position young Norman. I will not mix my words; our good friend Paddy has been cooking the books. We are now to be torn between doing the right thing or the very right thing. I need time to think, I’ll put all this into my safe for now and I’ll take you to my restaurant for lunch. We will talk further as we eat, that might stop me getting ulcers over this business if nothing else.”
Norman put the alarm on as the two men left the pub. Mr.Patel pointed to his Mercedes car parked on a double yellow line, watched over by his huge chauffeur. They cruised the couple of streets on the way to the Indian Restaurant. On their arrival the car doors were opened for them and they were escorted into a large busy restaurant. Their table overlooked the entire ground floor packed out with diners; many seemed to be aware Mr. Patel was there as he used sign language to order food and drink. Their table was soon overflowing; Mr. Patel looked thoughtful before addressing Norman, “Forgive me young man, I am rude, I am not being a good host, cheers and good appetite.” The two men drank wine and ate from a truly tempting selection of dishes. “Well, we should have the best, young Norman, after all I do own the fucking place, there you see I can do stand-up comedy.” He laughed loudly.
“I used to live near here,” remarked Norman.
“Yes I know, with Ernest and Katie, she is an attractive women your Auntie. Still, business Norman, oh dear what a fucking mess. Still needs must and we indeed must protect Paddy at all cost. You must assure me though, that what I am about to tell you along with what you already know will remain our secret, well apart from Paddy of course. I will come in next weekend and watch you guys at work, see if it gives me any ideas as to the best way forward. Next Monday I will meet again with just you, then I will decide. Let’s eat, young Norman, I must have a proper lunch most important meal of the day for me that is.” The two men feasted. When their table had been re-set for coffee and cognac they both lit up cigarettes.
“Do you have a girlfriend Norman,” enquired Mr. Patel.
“Yes, I guess I have.”
“Is she pretty, Norman?”
“Yes, very.”
“Good, you should leave ugly women for ugly men, or else it causes an in-balance.”
“I had not thought of it that way,”
“There is a reason for most things Norman.”
“Including, Paddies book keeping?”
“Of course, Paddy yes, that reminds me the Funeral Service. Maureen is to be cremated, very fitting considering she was a chain smoker. You will need to hang black drapes over the Two Buttocks signs. A few relatives will go there after. I will lay on the catering, just a small gathering. My secretary will E-mail you with the details.” Norman nodded his understanding of the situation as his phone rang just once; he switched it off.
“Such good manners Norman,” exclaimed Mr. Patel, “your parents must be very proud of you. I must not detain you any longer. Perhaps it was your very pretty girlfriend that phoned, good-bye young man. A taxi for Norman at once please.” Mr.Patel only had to raise his hand for the Manager to respond, he escorted Norman to the door and into the waiting minicab. Just minutes later as the cab crossed over Tower Bridge, Norman caught sight of Betsy leaving their local newsagents; he stopped the cab to join her for the short walk to her apartment. The driver would not accept payment, “It’s on Mr. Patel,” he explained.
Betsy was surprised to see Norman get out of the large black BMW.
“Joined the Mafia Norman,” she joked.
“If I answer that I’ll have to kill you.”
“Or fuck me,”
“Or fuck you.”
“Better tell me quick then.”
“Well, let’s just say Don Patel has made me an offer I can’t refuse.”
“I get fucked for that!”
“That’s life.”
Betsy noticed the cab driver had not pulled away yet, “Quick Norman let’s ask him to take us to a gallery first.” She grabbed him by the hand dragging him back to the car.
“Please take us to the Tate Gallery, not the new one,” she asked the driver.
“Sure Madam.”
“I’ll pay,”
“No need Madam, Mr.Patel owns this cab company, I’ll be paid.”
Norman and Betsy settled into their luxurious surrounds as the car eased away. “Norman you never talk about your Art College days; what did you do there?”
“I studied the art of Stand-up Comedy.”
“Very droll Norman, anyway you dropped out, are you a drifter Norman? I guess I’ll find out.”
It seemed liked the spring weather had come early as they arrived at the Tate. They both thanked their driver before climbing the stone steps to the gallery doors. They paused for a last cigarette in the sunshine before entering, this reminded Norman of Maureen’s Funeral.
“We have to work Wednesday lunchtime at the pub,” he blurted out in a nervous tone.
“So what’s new?”
“Ah, it’s Maureen’s Funeral.”
“Oh, dead at the Two Buttocks, I see.”
“You’re sick; Mr.Patel is expecting a few of her relatives to go there after the crematorium.”
“Crematorium! it gets worse, will you buy me a sexy black outfit and fuck me in it after?”
“Yes, but not till we get home.”
“Count me in for Wednesday then, should be fun. Now let’s go and get horny.”
Once inside the gallery she led the way, as a frequent visitor Betsy new what she liked.
“I’ll get Katie a fridge magnet,” he said loudly enough to embarrass her.
“Yes Norman and while you’re at it, why not get Ernest a fucking Tate comb case!”
“Good idea, thanks.” He wandered off in the direction of the gift shop leaving Betsy to study some Turner paintings at length. An hour later she found him still browsing the shop. “Come on little boy, I’ll buy you an ice-cream.” They found an empty table in the café, Betsy sent Norman off to make their purchase. He returned with two massive ice-cream deserts.
“So what did you buy in the gift shop?”
“Here take a look.”
“Lots of post cards, a comb and a case and you did get Katie a fridge magnet. What’s this book? Turner!”
“It’s for you; I can change it for another if you have this one already. It seemed the best one on Turner to me.”
“Oh Norman thank you, it’s just perfect, but a hardback, so expensive.”
“I know, but you did say I could fuck you later, so I thought, damn the expense.”
“Better not keep you waiting too long then had I.”
“After these ice-creams, please show me your favourite Turner paintings, tell me why you love to look at them and then let’s get the fuck out of here, O.K.”
“You got yourself a deal, you smooth talking bastard.”
Betsy showed off her special collection, he was very attentive as she explained her feelings. She clutched the present to her chest and seemed to be walking on air as they made their way home. She led the way to a bus stop after they had walked across Vauxhall Bridge. “The Thames looks like a great masters oil painting in this light, just look at it Norman.” He nodded and glanced at his watch, it was nearly 5 o’clock. On the South side they ran to catch their bus. The traffic was heavy and with half their journey completed Betsy suggested it would quicker to walk. She showed Norman how to cut through to Dock head and the apartment.
Once home, they showered together. Norman finished first and prepared large gin and tonics. Betsy joined him, opening the balcony doors ready to clear their cigarette smoke. The tide was high and visible through all the windows. “Look it’s just like being at sea Norman.”
“I guess so, not that I’ve been to sea yet, but who knows.”
“Now how about an early night Norman, fuck that is of course.” She walked over to the bedside, let her silk robe drop to the floor and then slowly slipped in under the duvet. Norman accepted her invitation without consideration. They enjoyed their sex to the sound of the Thames filling the wharf. The outside lights shone in through the windows as the pair provided free adult entertainment for their neighbours across the water.
With their long awaited sex over, it was time for more gin and tonics. Betsy closed the balcony doors; still naked she now pulled down the window blinds. They shared a cigarette, “It’s better for the environment,” said Betsy, “I’m hungry now.” She re-joined Norman in bed.
“Ah slight case of out of sink,” he replied. “ I had an enormous lunch, Indian actually, hence the gin and tonics now. ”
“This was with Mr. Patel!”
“In his restaurant, after our meeting at the pub.”
“Well you have had a long hard day Boss, I guess we should stay in tonight, I’ll ring for some Chinese to be delivered. You may want some later.” She made the call.
They both dozed, the door buzzer rang. Norman went to pay for the food. Betsy soon started picking what she fancied straight out of the cartons, with her bedside chopsticks. She then sat at the small round iron table in front of the balcony doors. Her silk robe was open, revealing her long slim shapely legs. Norman viewed her; he knew there would be more sex that night.
Betsy had put Lord of the Rings on the big-screen. “This is a pirate, got it from Doc today. I must be the last person in England to see this,” she exclaimed with her mouth full of Chinese take-away.
“Joint last actually,” replied Norman. “You saw Doc today?”
“Yeah he stopped by, after he left you and Mr. Patel at the pub.”
“Was he alright?”
“Thoughtful, well it’s with the Paddy factor being unknown, Doc’s let’s say nervous.”
“And you Betsy.”
“ I‘m just pleased, Doc remembered this movie, I’ve been asking him for ages, look at these special effects Norman, it’s much more exciting than stand-up comedy.” Norman shook his head then stared at the screen. They watched the film through, fumbling round from time to time in the dark to locate their cigarettes or pour fresh drinks.
By the end of the film they were both ready for another romp in the king-size followed by child-like sleep. They were woken early next morning by a phone call from Doc wanting to know what time the office as he called it would be opened. Norman and Betsy agreed to meet him there at 10 o’clock.
It was business as usual for the three at the Two Buttocks on arrival. Norman left Doc and Betsy to manage the entertainment side, he had to now to get to grips with the beer cellar. Having worked in his college bar, he fancied the challenge but not so much the work. He also had to order stock from the brewery, there was an old faded order sheet pinned up in the cellar, good old Paddy he thought I’ll just repeat the previous week to the tele-sales girl at the brewery. “Where’s Paddy? Having a day off is he?” she enquired laughing.
“Yeah I’m his barman Norman, cheers love.” Norman was not intending to let the brewery know of Paddies present state of mind.
“Hey Zen,” shouted Doc down the cellar stairs. “ You got an E-mail from our friend Patelallmyfriendsdo. Come and have a coffee in the office, you’ll need it.”
Norman presumed he was the last of them to read it. Doc was obviously awaiting an explanation. “It’s just the Funeral arrangements for tomorrow,” announced Norman.
“Oh that’s alright then, only I thought it was a sketch he’d written for us,” replied Doc.
“Might as well be really,” muttered Betsy, almost to herself.
“I can’t see a part for me, thank goodness.” added Doc.
“What ever happened to the, ‘We must all turn up at Maureen’s Funeral,’ speech, Doc?” asked Betsy. He looked up at the ceiling.
“Yes, good one Betsy,” added Norman, “we’ll write you a nice big part Doc, maybe the lead.”
“O.K. I’m not greedy, just a walk on part for me thanks,” he replied.
“For starters then,” asked Norman “please get some of your crew to cover up all the Two Buttocks signs and apart from us just get all the staff here on time please. We can’t trust any of the stand-ups to behave at a Funeral with free booze on tap.”
The three of them got busy on, ‘The Funeral Gig,’ as Doc insisted on calling it. Betsy was planning flowers for the tables. Doc offered to bring in his Leonard Cohen tape and Norman went out to get the sherry from ASDA. After this short burst of good intention, they walked round to the local cafe. Pleased to find a vacant table by the window, they studied the grease-stained menu.
“Now I know how goldfish feel,” complained Betsy.
“ Wet and slimy, aye, ” said Norman just as the elderly waitress arrived to clean off the mess left on the table by the last economy diners. “ Can I have a salad Ms?” enquired Doc.
“I’ll need to ask the boss” A Fred Flintstone double nodded his acceptance of the challenge. “Oh super,” shouted Doc. “I’ll ‘ave a chicken salad and chips then lovey.”
“You tosser Doc,” added Betsy with the agreement of the waitress.
“What was it Robbie Coltrane said in that advert,” Doc answered his own question, “we’re all wankers now.” He smiled in satisfaction at having the last word.
Norman wasted no time in attacking his food on arrival noted Betsy and Doc who were now busy debating T.V. sit.-coms. “The Royal Family is a bit like Till Death Do Us Part,” added Doc, “without the humour of course.” He laughed at this.
“Well I, think it’s fucking brilliant.”
“You only think that because a Woman helped to write it dear, now do continue with your lunch and don’t upset yourself with such matters.”
Betsy shook her head at Norman as she started her meal.
“Who’s doing what after lunch,” asked Doc. “Only I’m picking up my kids from school today.”
“Guess we could come up that way with you,” suggested Betsy. “ Norman is going to buy me a cute little black outfit for tomorrow. There are some decent shops in Hampstead.”
“This is going to cost you Norm, but sure join us. I’ll treat you both to a milkshake.”
After lunch they finished up their work at the pub, and then squeezed into Betsy’s car for the journey up to North London. She dropped Doc off near the school, “I’d give the shop lifting a miss dear; C.C.T.V. everywhere in Hampstead you know,” he shouted after the car, “They used to say the World was a stage, now it’s a fucking film-set.” Only Norman waved back. They parked outside Doc’s apartment and walked onto the shops. Betsy had a great time teasing Norman over her choice of black sexy funeral wear, complete with black stilettos, stockings, gloves and a veil. She insisted Norman bought just a black leather coat and new designer underwear as he still had his black doormen’s suit. He had never spent so much money on clothes before and remained silent for their walk back down the hill.
They found Doc and his daughters still in the ice-cream parlour. Betsy had hoped she would have missed them. Their table was a disaster area. Norman became a huge success with the girls ordering them even more ice cream and helping them to eat it. With his face also now covered in several colours of ice cream he sang to the girls, ‘Flush the Magic Toilet.’ He was next in demand giving them piggyback rides as the group went for a walk on the Heath. As Doc had not organised a ball for some child-like activities, Norman took off a huge woollen sock, rolled it up and threw it at the girls in turn. They would run off screaming in delight as Norman shouted, “The smelly sock is coming to get you.”
The group looked an odd one even for North London, Betsy was struggling with all her high street shopping bags, Norman and the girls with ice cream on their faces. Suddenly a dog grabbed the sock and ran off back to its’ surprised owner.
“Doc, perhaps you could get Norman some gigs as a brat entertainer,” suggested Betsy.
“Well perhaps I should, it pays better than stand-up, especially in Hampstead,” he replied.
They all made their way back to Doc’s flat. Norman waved goodbye to the girls as he returned to the, “Safety of the car,” as Betsy called it, “they behave just like kids.” She proclaimed as they drove away at high speed. Norman pushed himself back into his seat pretending to experience G-Force; Betsy laughed. Soon she was pulling up at their local Italian restaurant.
“Fuck it,” said Betsy, “I’m parking here tonight, let’s get pissed fed and fucked in that order, cause I aint looking forward to tomorrow, so I need an anaesthetic.”
“Three of them!” enquired Norman.
“Well that’s the advantage of going private.”
They dived into their early dinners. With both looking forward to the sex, they did not converse. The waiter brought their bill only to find an empty table covered in money, but he was happy enough as Norman and Betsy rushed off hand in hand back to the flat.
The front door slammed behind them indicating the start of a very private event. The apartment although in the thick of London’s life was silent. The warehouse walls and water soundproofed them. Betsy hated this silence, she grabbed a remote control which produced loud music. She danced into the main living space opening the balcony doors on her way to collapsing on the bed. Norman had gone for a shower, when he returned she was asleep. He poured himself a beer, noticing how early it was he switched onto the news channel. The news was so boring he grabbed a post-it-note, scribbled two words for Betsy and ventured out for a walk. As he neared Tower Bridge passing a pub, the pavement chalkboard read ‘Tonight Sit-down Comedy with Mickey Finn.’ Through the pub window Norman noticed Mickey sat up at the bar so he joined him. “High Norman, what can I get you?”
“I can’t get you one back.”
“So what, I owe you a good few drinks mate. But don’t order a gin and tonic, they’ve run out of clitoris fruit, sorry about that one mate.” The barmaid smiled, “P’raps, not” said Mickey.
“Cheers, only I’ve come out without any money, just for a walk, saw you and here I am.”
“Not much of a walk, where’s Betsy, you aint done ‘er in ‘ave you?”
“She’s sleeping; pissed.”
“Oh that’s alright, mind, if she dies of choking on her own vomit, you’ll be a suspect.”
“Mickey don’t be so fucking morbid, or is this Sit-down Comedy!”
“Oh that, Doc’s idea, he booked me in here. So she’s alright then.”
“You want to phone her just to make sure Mickey?”
“No need, it will be in the papers if you ‘ave done ‘er in.”
“If your old Gran could see you now, Mickey.”
“Hey, that’s my line Norman. I’m not on here you know, it’s upstairs. You’ll come up?”
“No sorry, early night tonight, Funeral tomorrow.”
“You did kill her then.”
“Not yet, see you soon Mickey, thanks for the beer.”
“If you need an alibi.”
“I’ll call you.”
“She’s tasty though Norman, skinny, a bit like fucking a xylophone I should imagine, no offence meant of course.”
“None taken Mickey; see you soon mate.”
“Yeah, I enjoyed our little chat, given me an idea for my routine tonight, cheers.”
Norman ambled back to the apartment, hiring a video on route. Betsy was still asleep on his return. He threw away the note and poured himself a large glass of wine. Betsy awoke and joined him. She seemed to have lost interest in sex that evening, Norman would not remind her. They settled down to watch the hired video, “I didn’t know you liked cartoons Norman.”
“It’s a bit more than a cartoon, really, or so Doc says.”
They both watched the movie before in silence going for that early night.
“Bring out your dead, bring out your dead,” shouted Doc through their letterbox early the next morning.
Betsy rushed to let him in. “Shut up you clown, I do have neighbours you know.”
“Clown aye, I like that.” He picked up the hire video, “Finding Nemo, did you enjoy it?”
“All that water, made me keep going to the toilet.”
“Weak bladder Betsy! Well you are getting on a bit, how old are you? ”
“Fuck off Doc.”
“Perhaps I’ll discuss the films artistic merits with Norman later,” Doc decided.
Norman on hearing his name mentioned stirred, “Be with you shortly guys,” he yawned.
Betsy threw an odd selection of food on the table. “Ahha,” said Doc, “continental breakfast, Idéal
pour de vieilles dames.”
“Fuck off Dock, excuse my French,” shouted Betsy. Norman looked confused.
The three ate in silence, then leaving the table in a mess and the room full of smoke they made their way in Betsy’s car to the Two Buttocks for 9 o’clock. A couple of Doc’s willing and generally unpaid assistants were already busy hanging black drapes over the venue signs in a manner that suggested this was a very low budget job. Norman shook his head as he entered the pub. The telephone was ringing, Betsy answered it. “Oh I see, O.K. I’ll tell Norman, thank you Mr. Patel, Betsy that’s right Betsy, bye. That was Mr. Patel.”
“Yeah I think we gathered that, what’s happening,” asked Doc.
“Well,” replied Betsy, some of Maureen’s family arrived last night, popped round here for a remembrance drink only to be greeted by Two Buttocks, literally of course, need I say more. Mr. Patel is to save the day, of course. The knees-up will now be at the Prince of Wales.”
“I’ll fucking drink to that,” shouted Doc.
“Seconded,” added Norman.
“Motion passed therefore,” concluded Betsy.
“Going, going, fucking gone,” they all said in unison, led by Doc before he ran outside to call off the work party. “Good job I wasn’t paying them,” he said on his return.
“So it’s business as usual,” Betsy concluded, “I’ll put the coffee on.”
“Still, just the small matter of the Funeral of course,” Norman reminded the others.
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